Sunday, May 31, 2015

The cute little brown and white bunny named Sulli, had a comically enormous wide jawed bite with enormous teeth.

People liked to cuddle Sulli.

But Sulli didn't like to be cuddled.

So the bites continued.

'We've had a good thing going here for years Sulli' Kumni, another bunny, this one all black apart from a tiny white tip to his floppier left ear, said to Sulli one day 'don't ruin it you bastard, keep those comically large choppers of yours IN your mouth, or we may soon lose favor as the rodentesq creature most likely to be brought in doors to cuddle, you fucker!'

'You make me sad Kumni' responded Sulli 'for starters don't call us rodentesq, were NOT rodentesq, if that's how you feel about yourself then fine, I get it, you're kept in a cage specifically designed for ferrets, but just because THEY treat you that way doesn't mean you have to FEEL that way. Plus don't use "fuckers" as a derogatory term. We're rabbits motherfucker, and WE BREED LIKE RABBITS! Own it bitch. Or at least stop bringing your own species down with negative language and self loathing, got it!'

Just then a human picked up Sulli for a cuddle. He bit the little girl. Hard. And it looked even worse given his comically oversized teeth.

As the man of the house, in response to his daughter being bitten by such huge teeth, carried the two bunnies and a butchers knife into the kitchen, Sulli turned to Kumni and said 'look on the bright side, they probably wouldn't be planning on eating us if we were rodents'.

Monday, May 25, 2015

The lonely block of granite stone was lonely
It was just another part of the mountain
The boring middle part
Till along came mining, excavation and masonry
Now it's a kitchen bench
Turns out loneliness was better than regular lime juice in the f'n eye

Movies, are great right? I think everyone can agree on that. We love them, they love us, and together we love each other, but movies have been lying to you people, movies have for ages made it seem like travel isn't always fun! You bastards.

I'm talking classic movies involving cliche international travel, movies like Black Hawk Down, Saving Private Ryan, Shindlers List, and Platoon, the list goes on and on, well I've got a message for you movies, travel isn't all about war, no no no, not just stinkin' war, travel also has things like site seeing, delicious food you can eat with your face, and racial hatred that's mostly now suppressed, oh and romance. And I want to talk about this last aspect of travel for a moment. Let's explore this with a cliche classic animal documentary style format.

Meet Mick, he is a cliche Australian traveller. He has the wide eyed stare and unnecessary grin of someone either very open to new ideas, or just very very simple minded, and he's a slightly doughy, dim-witted man on holiday in England, a place that's NOT Australia.

Mick (Mick waves happily while grinning like a moron) 'Hi I'm taking a huge risk and leaving home behind to see something new, they say England is a place with only 300,000 odd other Australians! That's less than Australia, so that will be interesting. Also I like seeing stuff, and doing stuff, and you know, not being stuffed to do anything, it's gonna be fun, I'm gonna do that stuff in a whole new place!

And Meet Sondra, she's a cliche British girl, which is a place you can only go with travel. Unless your from there. She has a British accent that sounds slaggy to those from her own country but to foreigners sounds sweet and adorable.

Sondra (Sexy, from a

distance, slaggy sounding British accent, unless you're not from there, in which case it's adorable) 'Hi, I like shagging foreigners cause in my own country the boys think I'm a right slag, but to foreigners I sound sweet and adorable, oh and I've already shagged practically every boy in Britain, got to get some fresh dick from somewhere'.

Wow, just doesn't she just sound so sweet and adorable? And great sense of humor too.

Mick - 'Wow, I've never seen these things before, this is new and exciting. And I'd never have gotten to see them without you! Or maybe a guidebook'.

With interesting information and compliments exchanged, romance can now get even more romantic.

Sondra - 'Right so have you got like a hotel room then?'

Foreign ladies love hotel rooms. In your own city girls hardly ever ask if you've got a hotel room. I have a theory that it's because when traveling you've swept them up in travel romance!

And then when you get there you don't have to muck about with candlelit dinners, and organizing for string quartets as you always do when romancing a lady at home, and they forgive you, I have a theory that it's because they know your phone doesn't properly work here, sometimes they pass it off with a joke.

'I've got gonorreah so best just shag me in the arse'.

Ha ha. Travel.

With coitus now moved onto post coitus, the romance of travel can turn out to have a twist.

Sondra - 'Turns out it was all ruse, I was just setting Mick up'.

Now two men come and grab Mick and drag him into a van, and no, it's not like in the movies where they plan to torture him in exchange for cliche battle plans and the location of the cliche allies mission planning center, they merely want to torture him for money, his passport and possibly to sell him to ISIS.

'Why's there a pillow case over my head, ha ha Sondra you're so funny, and raunchy'.

The End

So stop making travel look dangerous movies! I'm talking to you classic cliche travel movies, where the lead characters have travelled somewhere, like Thin Red Line, Patton, Star Wars, and Apocalypse Now, travel isn't just about war, it's also romantic.

I made an amazing discovery today. It's truly remarkable, and I am left with a dilemma, a tough decision a Sophie's choice even, do I:

A. Keep this for myself and exploit it for money and fame? Or

B. Share it with the world and bask in the joy it spreads like fairy dust released in volcanic eruption levels?

Well keen observers and happy well wishing regular readers here at David Tieck and his Fleeting Forever, will know that there really is no question which of those I will choose. While I do covert fame and the fortune that comes with it, and having even had a taste for both, a small bite that came with a residual hangover that is a rabid like lust for more, and a willingness to step on your own grandmothers neck just to peak at more of it from a slightly high set window, there is still no way I could turn down the opportunity to play a part in a earth covering volcanic eruption. Cause that sounds bad ass.

So here goes, here is the amazing discovery I discovered that you are about to discover as shared by me:

Step 1. Take any boring ass anecdote from your life. Anything at all.

Step 2. Add Sri Lanka

Step 3. Boom! You're now interesting!

Ok, so I know most of you are no longer reading. Your minds have been blown, and you've bolted away from

your reading implement, and are currently pulling some dusty old anecdotes out of your sock draw and are going to mend them up with Sri Lanka, pull them on, and race them around to your next social engagement ready to be the coolest person there. And I support this. But a few of you are skeptical. I'm fine with this too, if not for possessing an unwillingness to accept brilliant new ideas right away you may already be 'liked' by other people, and not even have any need for this little piece of magic. And I'm here for you too - so to blow off skepticism here is proof.

Step 1. (A boring ass old anecdote. This is a true boring as shit tale from my life) So I'd been lost in the jungle now for three months living off nothing but raw snake guts, having learned to sit still in a meditative state for days on end until the snakes had made home in my lap, before suddenly striking at their bellies with my teeth so fast that the first mouthful was in my intestines before the snake could even blink, you know because they don't have eyelids. Sure I could also have eaten the flesh of the hundred and fifty men from the local guerrilla militia that had ambushed and attacked me, only to be defeated in a brutal battle where my bare fists out powered their machine guns, bazookas, tanks, black hawk helicopters and satellite directed heavy artillery. But I'm no cannibal. Plus I used their weapons and their flesh and bones to make a to-scale complete replica of manhattan in 1842, complete with an accurate number of inhabitants, in accurate period costume. It's cool, but it's was starting to smell a bit if I'm honest. Suddenly I was attacked by three giant tigers, I fought them off with my back to them, as it was a sunny day and I wanted to even my tan out. I did not kill them though, because cats are awesome, I instead tamed them, and made them my pets and allies. A couple of aliens were watching all this, and now declared me ruler of the universe.

Step 2. (Take this story, yes I know.... It's a true story, but BORING as hell, but now add Sri Lanka) Oh, I should mention this all happened in Sri Lanka.

Step 3. (Boom, you're now interesting) Boom! I'm now interesting!

So get out there everyone, trust me, it's fun as shit. Joy, friends, popularity, likability, happiness, awesomeness and party centers will be all now be yours! It's utterly flawless!

Friday, May 22, 2015

I like to think that if my name was Callahan, a fifty-eight year
old double bass player in a Jazz band, and I needed to do something for my
fitness, but still wanted to feel cool, so I had chosen to go to a Jazz dancing
class, although I was now doubting the wisdom of my plan, and I was currently
standing in front of the Jazz dancing class building, trying to talk myself
into going in, I would mutter something like this under my breath:

‘You promised you'd do something for your cardiovascular health.
You promised. This is perfect. It's Jazz. It says so right in the name. Sure
you've been playing Jazz for forty years now and never really seen any dancing,
at least not anything that has a consistency that could be classed into a style
or approach, but still, Jazz man, this must be run by some cool cats.

Ok, don't drop into clichés now, you don't have to justify your
Jazz credentials, have these guys played bass in a variety of bands in several
cities, over the years to probably literally dozens of people? No you have.
Just be yourself, do some Jazz dancing and you can Jazz up your sax appeal.
Yeah, that's pretty smooth. I am a real Jazz dude, fuck, did I just say “Jazz
'dude”, no no no no, it's Jazz “cat”, why are you doubting your Jazz
credentials, why are you censoring yourself, agghh this is Jazz hard.

You're Callahan for god’s sake. Just say your name when you get
in, “I'm Callahan, I'm here for Jazz” and they'll probably hand the class over
to you. “Oh my god, you're Callahan? The
Callahan? From Frilly and the Gators? And the Buck Hampton Trio? THE CALLAHAN? From
Lester’s Revenge? Oh my god!’ they'll probably say. “Oh yes, I've seen some
things, thumbed some grooves, drank some bourbon with people most people think
aren’t even real, only legends” you'll be able to say. “Oh I remember a night
in Mobile Alabama, after a four week bender in New Orleans, where we said we
were going to dry out, before ending up in the basement of this cat Gunter's
establishment, where we went on a seven hour improvisation that had more than
fourteen trombone solos, TROMBONE!” That’s the kind of story these folk all
probably dream of hearing, and these are the exact type of stories you ooze.

Oh who are you fucking kidding? You're here because your doctor
said “lose some weight, lay off the booze and maybe you'll still be here in
five years”. But it's the lifestyle man. The lifestyle. I am Jazz, and Jazz
isn't safe man, Jazz is reckless, Jazz is free, Jazz doesn't turn down a shot
of whiskey just because he's already had a bottle, Jazz says yes, oh maybe your
washboard players might say “not for me thanks, I don't want to lose control of
my senses, the washboard don't play itself man” and then they have washboard
abs. But those are the washboard guys, and they aren’t me.

It’s not like I chose bass. I didn't choose bass man, bass chose
me man. Those cats were playing and I was playing harmonica, and then the bass
player quit cause he didn't like the vibe man, and I picked it up and didn't
look back man. That’s beauty man. That's romance man. That’s what it’s all
about.

And now you're fat and it's your heart that doesn't like the
vibe man. Well sometimes the vibe doesn’t feel right, you don’t have the groove
in your heart, and the trumpet player has been stabbed in the parking lot over
his last cigarette, but the show must go on. And because of that, I shall now
dance’.

Wow, if my name was Callahan and I was a fifty-eight year old
double bass player with arteries as blocked up as highway behind a brutal big-rig
pile up, life would be sweet, I can just imagine it – fourteen trombone solos,
that’s Jazz wow.

If you ask me (and people do frequently, just to nip any
naysaying square in the bud before it has a chance to do grow, and let’s face
it, growth can sometimes lead to an increase in size for fuck’s sake) there
simply is nothing on earth quite as galvanizing as the unintended grisliness of
being groovy.

Now I know that's a controversial thing to say. Highly controversial. So I'll let it sit
with you for a moment. To let it sink in. And fully affect your regions where
things sink to. I prefer to use my brain, so I mostly take things in and then
let them rise up, but I am not everyone.

As you accept this statement into your heart I do ask for just
one favor, before you make your placards, before you write to your elected
officials, before you riot with water pistols at your local joke book store
ironically called 'dry wit', before you play your favorite Michael Jackson
protest song, before you graffiti slogans of independent thought onto the side
of light rail carriages, before you shake your fist saying something like
'grrrr', before you burn down a whole mall to save you burning down each of
your target stores independently even knowing full well that an innocent food
court Cambodian food start up that admittedly was failing and will be thankful
for the chance to claim insurance and pretend this entire ordeal be finally
over, will accidentally get mixed up in your cause, and be burned down against
your specific wishes, or at least in contrast to your specific goals, before
your bazooka a rival gang's secret headquarters without explaining how you
FOUND OUT that secret, before you declare all out war against a nation of peace
loving neutral island living resort owners, before you light yourself on fire
on the steps of parliament surprisingly on the west side steps, the ones next
to the fountain, before you go on a hunger strike and stitch your lips
together, before you... and I hate to even think about this... but before you
push over a chair in disgust.

Just hear me out. Ok? I know it's a brutally controversial statement,
and l know you wish for the acknowledgment of an unheralded level of statement
of disagreement, but I can defend it. So you'll listen? Deal? ANSWER ME YOU
PSYCO FUCK????

Oh wait, this isn't an audible medium, I assume you agreed.

Nothing on earth is as galvanizing as the unintended grisliness
of being groovy, because:

The term to be 'groovy' comes from the 'grooves' on vinyl
records.

Vinyl was also used to make faux leather jackets.

Jackets keep you warm in mild cold.

Mild is how pussies order the spice level of their Buffalo
Chicken Wings.

Chickens being an animal who never 'intended' to be mostly
coveted for their wings, especially seeing as they can't fly, and frankly they
personally consider their beaks to be their tastiest part.

Their beaks being the only part of their body their tongues can
reach.

Reach being how you acquire something on the other side of the
table.

Things like salt, pepper and a myriad of other potential
condiment options, which have the ability to dazzle the senses and enhance foodstuffs
whether already superb or in dire need of help.

The marriage of need and help being proof of mankind's inherent
instinct for compassion, and in no way at all undermines the sanctity of the
more traditional marriage, between a boy and his cousin even though they look
strikingly alike, due to them being the only two people in town on the exact
same class structure.

And compassion being one of the few words to guarantee bringing
to mind ‘compression’, an important part of the process of vinyl record
production, which brings us full circle.

Circles being nature’s strongest shape, other than triangles,
and possibly rhombuses.

So there you have it. That settles that. If you didn't
wait you may now jump in the fountain and put yourself out, unstitch your lips
and eat a Cambodian Noodle Soup, or ..... and I hate to even think about
this... pick up the chair you pushed over.

The important thing is that now we're all on the same page, and
no one has even the slightest bit of doubt as to why the unintended grisliness
of being groovy is super galvanizing.

Oh wait, also because if you're groovy there's also the grisly
reality that someone else is not so lucky and perhaps feels lonely and
left out which raises the very galvanizing topic of whether utter equality is a
possibility, or should even be a social goal.

Goals being things only achievable with effort.

Effort being something that tastes like shit, no matter what
condiments you have available. A bit like Cambodian food apparently. Ahhh. Full
circle.

Monday, May 18, 2015

'You're cursed by aliens if you do - You're possessed by the devil if you don’t
- Either way you end up with a cool story to tell'.

Like most sayings based on undeniable truth, there is a lot of truth in this
saying, wisdom even. But this saying makes it seem like those are the only two
options, when what you really should be attempting is to make the aliens think
you didn't, when you kind of did, and make the devil think you did when you kid
of didn't, and if you get the timing just right you can end up in the
possession of an alien possessed by the devil, and those are worth some serious
coin on the black market (there are too many taxes on the regular market).

The point is that here at David Tieck and his Fleeting Forever we normally stay
away from social and political issues. This is for a very simple reason -
debate is healthy, possibly even necessarily, to help maintain a vibrant
society capable of sustaining a diverse spectrum of differing yet valid
opinions on a multitude of issues with constantly morphing factors that
persistently shift the dynamics of problematic reasoning - and typically when I
throw in my two cents that all goes away as people say stuff like 'oh of
course, Dave's one hundred percent right, debate settled, all hail our
messiah'.

Ok, thanks guys, obviously I'm proud of being a messiah, but just because I'm
one hundred percent right there's no need to end the debates, watching people
get infuriated by semantics is entertaining. Plus people saying really, really
dumb stuff? Hilarious.

Having said that I think there is one issue we need solved right now. I'm ready
for my two cents. I'm ready to end this right now, I am of course talking about
how it's really, really a teeny bit annoying that various spellchecks think
when you type 'fucking' that you actually meant to write 'ducking'. NO I
DIDN'T!

I've already talked before about the damage this type of thing is doing to the
kids, and because I'm not someone who complains about something without
offering a solution, I solved it with this video right here:

But this only flawlessly solved one
aspect of the problem. The insignificantly annoying censorship remains (and
insignificant is a long important sounding word). Well, I am not one to complain
about something without offering a solution, and I say we need to fight this miniscule
annoyance with absolute brutal carnage.

I think as a world, just to fight
spellcheck assuming we meant 'ducking', we should agree that 'ducking' now
means 'cancer raping pedophile victims'.

What smell should I invent next?

About Me

Hi I'm David Tieck, an author/comedian/artist from Sydney, Australia. This is my blog. I use it as an outlet for my peculiar mind. Come on in and feel free to add to the lovely absurdity in anyway that you are so inspired.